Oh, The Challenge
by Onomatopeia Jones
Summary: A series of challenge fics, some related to the others, some not.


Challenge # 1

Everything would've been better if just hadn't made a bet that he could out-shoot Spot Conlon's girl. She was as good of a shot as Spot. Maybe better. Snipeshooter was gobsmacked when she shot a bottle off the end of the pier from the other end. He got so nervous he couldn't concentrate, and he missed it by a mile. She smirked at him.

"Pay up, pip-squeak."

He grudgingly handed her the nickel. He'd been out shot by a girl! Yeah, she was Spot's girl, but she was still a girl, and he still wasn't supposed to get beat by her! Snipes sighed. He'd never hear the end of it from the Manhattan boys. He stared at the broken bottle for a while when he felt someone come up behind him and take his hands. They rested their chin on his shoulder and held up the hand that had the slingshot in it. They placed a smallish rock in the sling, then held his hand as they both pulled back to shoot.

"The thing you need to remember is focus. Don't think about anything else, just your target," the person said softly in his ear. He recognized the voice. It was Spot's girl. She was teaching him to shoot! Emilie Johnson, Queen of Brooklyn, was teaching him to shoot! He gulped. She was making him nervous. She must have noticed, because she whispered. "Block everything else out. Pretend I'm not here. Pretend that the entire world consists of you…and the bottle. Nothing more, nothing less." He took a breath and took aim. He let the rock fly, and missed.

"Take your time. Just take your time. You have all the time in world. Just take your time, and wait for just…the right…moment," she said quietly, her chin still resting on his shoulder. Her voice was soothing. It calmed his nerves, and he took aim again. His hand tensed to let the stone fly again, but Em shook her head. "Wait for just…the right…moment. Then let it fly."

He nodded and concentrated. He focused just on the bottle and the stone. Everything else fell away. Emilie wasn't there, her chin on his shoulder, he hadn't just lost to a girl, he wasn't even standing on the dock. The entire world consisted of him…and the bottle. He took aim. Squinting one eye, he made sure that he had the shot exactly lined up. He let go of the sling and sent the stone flying. The only sound there was the sound of his breathing, then the shattering of the bottle she'd set there. Emilie smiled. She turned him around and hugged him. "You did good, kid," she said, kissing his cheek. Snipeshooter could've swooned. Sure, she called him kid, but she'd kissed his cheek. That counted for something. Right?

Snipes had been in love with Emilie since he first saw her when he was seven. She had pretty hair, a nice smile, and she was always nice to him. She was originally from Manhattan, and she was like a mother to all the little newsies, including Snipeshooter. He'd loved her because she liked frogs and ghost stories and knew all sorts of fun tricks to play on people. And she liked him. Snipeshooter nearly cried when she came home giggling with a little red mark under her collar. A hickey, she'd explained to him. Something you get when you have a boyfriend. He'd wanted to die. But did she really like Snipes? She _had_ kissed his cheek. Just then, Spot came up to her and kissed her. On the lips.

Emilie giggled. Spot raised an eyebrow.

"Do I have some competition?" he questioned, amused.

Emilie smirked and shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe. He is a good shot. And he's pretty cute, don't you think?" she said, tousling Snipeshooter's hair. His cheeks burned scarlet with shame. Of course Emilie didn't like him!

Spot shrugged. "I guess, if you like ten-year-olds."

Emilie grinned. "Aw, I don't know. He's such a sweetheart, I might just have to go with him instead of you, Spot. You're gonna have to prove that you're better."

Spot dipped her like they were dancing and kissed her for a long time. When they pulled apart, Emilie's eyes danced. She had her arms around Spot's neck, and Spot rested his forehead on hers.

"Well? Do I lose my Spotlight to Snipeshooter, or am I still the only one her light shines on?"

Emilie kissed him softly and rested her forehead against his again. She smiled. "I will, now and forever, be your Spotlight and nobody else's."

Snipeshooter looked on in horror. He had just watched the love of his life pledge her heart to another man! He felt his eyes well up with tears, and he ran all the way back to Manhattan. While he ran, it started raining. And thundering. And lightning-ing. And Snipes was afraid of thunderstorms. When he got to the lodging house, he was soaked and shivering.

He stripped off his wet shoes and socks and went to his bunk. He really wanted to take a hot bath, but bath day wasn't until Thursday and today was only Monday. He sighed as he peeled his wet clothes off. He had a nightshirt he'd filched from the nuns one time, and it would be dry. Not warm, but at least dry. He sighed as he pulled the thin, hole-y, scratchy blanket up over his shoulders. He buried his face in the musty, flat pillow and cried. He was miserable, cold, and heart-broken. And he'd lost his last nickel to a girl.

He slept fitfully. He kept having nightmares of him and Emilie, Spot and Emilie, slingshots, and beer bottles. He woke with a start and bumped his head on the bunk above him. His stomach grumbled, and he realized that he hadn't eaten that day. He whimpered, and Race told him to shut up and go back to sleep. Snipes sighed. Mondays were always rotten anyway.

* * *

Challenge # 1: Start with the line 'Everything would've been better if only he hadn't...' End with 'Mondays were always rotten anyway.' Exactly 1,000 words, no more, no less. 


End file.
